


The Courtship of a She-Wolf

by darkuponlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkuponlight/pseuds/darkuponlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Arya/Gendry take on Red Riding Hood</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Courtship of a She-Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Arya and Gendry fic and I’ve always had a soft spot for Grimm’s fairy tales and I thought Red Riding Hood was a good one to do, but then I was rather influenced by Angela Carter's "The Company of Wolves." I can't help it, she's just so good.

 

> The wolf and winter are entwined as one; both are cruel, savage and beautiful. Both will have you spellbound before crushing the life from your body. It is said that no person has ever took the wolf on and won; you may kill them, but their savage souls and eerie howls will haunt you for the rest of your life. Dreams are chased by wolf-shadow; hear the footsteps of someone at the door and your heart will quail- for once the wolf has hold of you, it will never let go. 

 

This tale concerns a youth who proves this point.   
  
In a secluded mountain village of Northern Europe, a young man was preparing to leave his family home for the day to visit a friend who lived deep within the forest. Now, the forest was the place of nightmares; most hunters steered clear, because the earth and the beasts conspired against man to lose him in its dark netherworld.   
  
The forest was as large as it was dark, and always, its shadow loomed over the villagers. The small village cowered in its wake; and when the wolves and bears and other wild nightmares snarled and howled in the night, children would cry in their sleep, their parents huddled together and cursing their terrible luck at having such a place to live.   
  
So it was unsurprising that the villagers were so concerned for him. They did not consider it a wise move to go and visit someone who was stupid enough to live in the forest, anyway.   
  
“But, Gendry, it’s too dangerous!” said his neighbor, a woman who, through her constant nagging of her children had gone prematurely grey, though her delicate bone structure betrayed her beautiful youth.   
  
Her daughter joined in, “…And what of the wolves?” she asked. She knew this would make him stop and consider; the beasts had carried off men in the past few months. They were more daring and ready to take on any man.   
  
But he was as stubborn as he was strong. He knew fear, and he knew suffering. But, more than anything, he knew compassion, and his friend, Jeyne Hiddle, had been ill over the winter and needed tending to. He ignored their pleas and shut the door, making his way into the forest.   
  
He had thought to take his horse, but had reconsidered. _I would not want the wolves to kill her_ he thought, and then chuckled. He had not even considered his own safety.   
  
As he wandered deeper into the forest, he found himself clutching the wicked knife he always carried whenever he went near this place. It could slit a wolf’s throat in an instant; but he knew he could only ever take on one. An entire pack would tear him apart before he knew it.   
  
There was little more than a breeze in the closed confines of the forest, but the air was chill and his cheeks were red with the stinging cold. The redness of his cheeks, however, were nothing compared to the blood-red cape that hung from his broad shoulders. His built was strong and sturdy, his arms muscled since he could lift a hammer. His hair a tousled inked black mess.  
  
But the most striking thing about him was his eyes; crushed blues that betrayed his every emotion; blue like a wolf’s in the moonlight, but touched with effortless humanity that the beasts could only envy. There was a saying in the village, that even a wolf could love him.   
  
Gendry found himself hoping that this was true. It would be his only defense, but a starving wolf would not care for such aesthetics.   
  
Although he had made this journey a good few times over the winter, always, he was nervous and wary as he made his way into the forest. He sung to himself, low, softly, so that he could hear the affirmation of his own voice in the silent and ominous world around him.   
  
After a little while, however, he stopped singing and began to listen, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. _Something_  was out there; and he knew that it had been following him for some time. The forest had been _too_ quiet; the birds had stopped singing, the air was still. A predator.   
  
Cursing himself for letting his guard down, and walking into this trap, he stopped and listened. Whatever was following him was stealthy; it made no sound. “Is anybody there?” he called out, praying that it was another human. Even a murderer would be less of a trial than a wild beast.   
  
Silence.   
  
Hands trembling, he carried on walking, shifting the rucksack of provisions for Jeyne restlessly along his shoulder. He should have stayed at home, he should never have thought himself invulnerable to the wilds, he—   
  
He cried out in terror as something darted from the bushes to block his path. His hand flew to the knife at his side, and he unsheathed it, pointing it towards his aggressor.   
  
Standing before him was a young woman. She looked a little younger than Gendry, and her cocky grin betrayed a self-assured personality that was in stark contrast to Gendry’s somber and watchful one.   
  
  
The stranger had skin so pale, like the snow itself- and grey eyes like the wisps of clouds at twilight, grey as a wolf’s coat. She was lithe and slender, but so strong. She carried her weapons with practiced ease.   
  
Over her shoulder was a hunter’s bag, lined with the fur of some animal or another, whilst pheasant feathers and a couple of rabbit’s legs protruded from them. Gendry sighed in relief. A hunter. And where there were human hunters, there were never wolves. But what a woman had any business being out here all alone was beyond him.  
  
“You startled me,” he grunted, putting his knife back into his pocket again.   
  
“Did I?” asked the woman, “I suppose I should; what an idiot you are, walking this forest with nothing but a knife to defend yourself and singing so every beast in the whole damn place can hear you.”   
  
Gendry scowled. “I’ve been doing well enough so far.”   
  
He expected the stranger to give some scathing comment, to nag him like his mother used to, but instead she broke into a grin that was infectious in its own way. “And where are you going?” she asked jovially.   
  
Gendry couldn’t help but give a reluctantly coy smile. “Not that it’s any of your business, but to my friend’s home.”   
  
“Really?”   
  
Gendry patted the rucksack on his shoulder, “She’s been ill, can’t get out to the markets. I bring her provisions once a week.”   
  
“What a nice idea. But you really are still a fool for coming through here. And don’t you know that the wolves watch the paths? You’re better off in the thick of the forest.”   
  
Gendry gazed at the dark forest around him. He seriously doubted this; but then, he was exposed out in the open, anybody could just—   
  
“Do you want me to prove the point?” asked the stranger. “Shall I attack you, rob you of your possessions?” she swaggered forward menacingly.   
  
Gendry scoffed in disbelief, as if a little thing like her could do such a thing…but still, he took out the blade he had been given, his jaw set determinedly. As he lifted it, however, his resolve wavered. Was the stranger being serious? He gazed at the wolfish grin, and then realized that it was more that he could not…   
  
The feral gleam in the stranger’s eyes reflected his trembling form. “Are you afraid of me?” the woman mocked gently.   
  
This time, it was Gendry’s turn to growl. He tipped his head proudly, straightened his spine to accentuate his full height, and held the knife out to her. “Here, take it.”   
  
The hunter’s eyes locked on Gendry’s own and held his gaze, even as she slipped a hand around the blade and pulled it from his grasp. She toyed with the knife for a moment, feeling its blade against her skin. It cut her, such a small cut that it was barely a graze, but she gasped and held her hand up, licking the small drop of blood away all the same. She stared at Gendry, and something fleeting, almost malicious, passed over her.   
  
Gendry wished he had the knife back.   
  
Then the stranger’s face was filled with a happy grin, and she tucked the knife away amongst her own weapons. “For trusting me, bull,” she said, “I’ll do something I very rarely do and tell you my name.”   
  
“And what is that?” Gendry asked, fighting to quell the panic rising in his throat.   
“Arya.”   
“Arya?”   
“That and nothing more,” she smiled, and extended a hand. She grasped Gendry’s and shook it warmly. “Pleased to meet you.”   
  
Gendry nodded. “So, my lady, will you guide me through this forest then?”   
  
Another grin. “Why, of course, you stupid bull.”   
  
“Gendry.”   
  
“I’m sorry?”   
  
“My name’s Genry.”   
  
“Oh.” A short laugh.   
  
They had been walking for some time. Always, Arya kept him to the path. Gendry protested, saying that the wolves would know their trail, but Arya would tell him to hush, he was with her, he was safe, and Gendry pushed away his doubts and allowed the hunter to guide him on.   
  
They had been talking of trivial matters, hunting tools and how long the winter had been this year, when Gendry heard the first howl. It was joined by more, and more, until a hellish chorus had been struck up. Thankfully, the wolves seemed some way off.   
  
Gendry shivered. “The wolves are out in force tonight,” and he grasped Arya’s arm.   
  
She simply gave a toothy grin. “Don’t worry; they won’t attack us.” Her eyes narrowed and she gazed at her charge. “Do you want your knife back?”   
  
“Why?” asked Gendry.   
  
“To defend yourself.”   
  
Gendry grinned. “Something tells me you can defend us both well enough.”   
  
Arya stopped. “Quite.”   
  
“What’s wrong?” asked Gendry, but his companion ignored him. She had her head cocked, listening to the sounds of the forest. Gendry strained to hear, but no sound came to him. Somewhere, snow was melting from a branch and dripping steadily onto the forest floor. The place was eerie in its silence.   
  
“What…” he began, and then an ear-splitting screech, a howl of malice, rippled through the forest. It chilled him to his core.   
  
Arya turned and regarded him. She had a strange look in her eyes; they seemed wild with excitement, her braid coming loose in the wind. “Let’s play a game,” she announced suddenly.   
  
“What sort of game?” he asked hesitantly.   
  
“A race,” said Arya, “let’s see if I know these woods as well as I think I do. I’ll use my shortcut, and we’ll see who reaches your friend’s house first.”   
  
Gendry raised an eyebrow. “Is that such a good idea, what with the wolves? I think I’d rather-“   
  
“Nonsense,” said Arya smoothly, cutting him off. “It’s an excellent idea. A bit of sport.” She laughed. “We’ll play for a prize, just to make it interesting. Choose something you want, if you win that is.”   
  
Gendry considered. What he really wanted to say was, “A kiss,” but he felt too shy to ask such a thing from this fiery stranger, so instead he said, “A rabbit to take home for supper.”   
  
Arya laughed. “I would have given you one anyway, if you had only asked. As for me, I would like my prize to be a kiss from you.”   
  
Gendry’s heart leapt. “Okay,” he said, forgetting to be afraid in the whirl of excitement Arya had him in.   
  
“Then let’s play,” said the hunter, and with that, she disappeared into the forest.   
  
Jeyne’s house was not all that far away. In fact, Gendry was almost certain that this path would be quicker, seeing as how the surrounding country was covered in scrub and nasty thorns and bushes. He began to worry and hoped Arya would be safe, but then he was certain the hunter could look after herself.   
  
He slowed his steps a little, to give Arya time to make it to the house before him. After all, a tender kiss from that mouth was much better than his prize of a rabbit. He imagined sweeping her up in his arms, to feel the soft skin of her jaw as he nuzzled against her face, and he almost sighed with longing. Then, pulling himself together, he decided to start hurrying to Jeyne’s house. After all, Arya must be there by now, and he didn’t want her to see how much he coveted that kiss.   
  
The stars were out by the time he arrived at Jeyne’s house. Away from the village, the ambient light, they were so pretty, so very bright in the forest. He sighed contentedly. No wonder she loved it so much out here, in the silent beauty of the natural world. Away from the constraints of society.   
  
Jeyne’s house loomed up in the darkness, and despite his intolerance for society, he found himself happy to see the brightly-lit home, the air of quaint domesticity that surrounded it.   
  
He walked up to the front porch, noticing, with a frown, that there was no sign of Arya—how disappointing. She must have only been leading him on. A creeping fear that she had come under harm lingered in the back of his mind. Trying to shake the thought, he decided to forget the stranger, after all, the purpose of the journey had been Jeyne.   
  
He made to knock on the door, and then realized that it was open. A cold hellish fear settled over him. Jeyne was not stupid; the door must always be locked—the wolves would find entry otherwise. As if on cue, he heard one howling in the distance, and hastily entered the little hut.   
  
Inside, the hallway was lit up. It had been this light that he had seen from the path. The place looked the same as ever; small table with a couple of books, a coat-rack, a lamp. Perhaps everything was all right, he was simply creating fears with his over-active imagination…   
  
… And then he walked into the bed-room, and realized how foolish he had been.   
  
A shadow passed over Gendry’s face at the sad sight before him; blood and torn clothes and half a splintered bone, that of a human; and nothing more. The lights had been put out, the bedding ripped and shredded, ornaments overthrown and smashed.   
  
“You know what happened?”   
  
He turned, to see Arya standing there in the doorway. Arya, shadowed and mysterious in the dim light, watched him with cold grey eyes.   
  
Gendry swallowed. “The wolves,” he said, and though he trembled, he looked Arya in the eyes.   
  
A sympathetic nod. “The wolves.”   
  
The cry of a wolf sounded in the distance. A moment’s silence, and then a cacophony of howls sounded nearby, and then outside the window, and then a monster of a wolf was standing at Arya’s feet.   
  
Gendry swallowed and lowered his gaze. He knew, then, that he was next.   
  
“Are you afraid?” asked the she-wolf. Her voice had that gentle mocking tone again.   
  
Gendry raised his eyes, glared proudly at her. “No.”   
  
“You’re a fool not to be,” said Arya, bending down and ruffling the thick fur on the neck of the wolf, “they’re killers, pure and true. I took them on and then I saw…” she glanced down at the wolf, large and savage and beautiful, “…then I saw that we weren’t really all that different, after all.”   
  
“…And my friend?”   
  
“Forget about her. It’s the living that matter.” She took a step forward. “Now, tell me, my stubborn bull; are you afraid? Don’t worry, you can tell me. After all, no secret will ever matter to you again after this.” She laughed, full-throated and free, and the wolf grinned up at her.   
  
“Never.” Said Gendry.   
  
“And do you have anything to say about the sight before you?”   
  
Gendry took another look at the carnage around him, and the darkness where before once Jeyne had filled it with light and warmth, and then he saw how alluring the darkness was, and how the wolf so wanted to rush forward, but waited patiently at its master’s feet.   
  
Its master.   
  
“It looks like you won the race,” he said finally.   
  
“Mmm-hmm. But I got a little restless waiting for you. And so I got back to the matter at hand; the hunt.”   
  
“…Have you caught enough today?” he asked hopefully.   
  
The grin faded from Arya’s face. “Almost, Gendry. I have one more… quarry to take.”   
  
Gendry watched her smile, and then break into another wolfish grin. The beasts began to enter the house again, one, then two, and then there were a whole pack at her feet, waiting, watching with glittering amber eyes.   
  
“My brothers and sisters. My pack.” said Arya, gesturing to the waiting wolves, “they are hungry.” And she grinned to show how entertaining it wall was.   
  
Gendry quailed, then forced himself to smile. “And should I prepare for this feast?”   
  
A nod.   
  
Slowly, he unfastened his red cape. It fell to the floor, and a wolf stepped forward, picked it up in its jaws and began to tear at it hungrily.   
  
“I do wish you’d hurry,” said Arya, “And don’t worry about your clothes. Rip them off if you like; you won’t be needing them again.”   
  
“I am sure I won’t,” said Gendry, but he took his shirt off slowly, allowing Arya a glimpse of collarbone, shoulder, torso. “I would like to feel their silk one last time before I give myself up to you…” he said. He rolled the shirt up and threw it into the pack of wolves, who made work of tearing that up, too.   
  
“Me…and my pack.” Reminded Arya.   
  
“And your pack,” agreed Gendry.   
  
“Take off your small clothes,” said the she-wolf, “after all, they don’t much like the taste of cloth.”   
  
Gendry complied. He gave the nearest wolf the garment. It snarled and promptly swallowed the material.   
  
Gendry arched an eyebrow. “They seemed to like it well enough.” He said.   
  
“Indeed,” agreed Arya, “but they, like myself, prefer the taste of blood.” 

“Is that all you like?” he asked, as he stood bare before her.   
  
“No, I like kisses, too. And I recall I was promised one, my bull. After all, I beat you here…”   
  
“Ah, yes,” said Gendry, “I had better give you that first, then.”   
  
Arya licked her lips hungrily. “Yes- it’s only fair, after all.” She smiled, a cat’s smile, a wolf’s sport, enjoying her prey’s endearing game. “Now, my bull,” she said, mock-serious, “I must eat you. I have caught you and the rule of the forest is: no mercy.”   
  
Gendry laughed. _They both knew, he was nobody’s meat_. He stepped towards his she-wolf. Arya gave an indulgent smile as she opened her arms and wrapped them around her quarry.   
  
Gendry clung to her hips and lowered his head, kissing those lips and tasting the slight trace of blood that tainted Arya’s lips, where her teeth had scored marks in his own tongue.   
  
All the better to eat you with.   
  
The she-wolf pressed him to her, rough clothes against too-naked flesh. Her fingers ran over the warm, broad chest, over the sharp curve of hip-bone and dipped in the crevice below. She pressed her hand there, caressing Gendry as she never had any of her victims, whilst Gendry gasped into her ear and tightly gripped her hips. She ran her hand over Gendry’s body even as she leaned forward and drove heated kisses down his neck and chest and returned to his wet mouth, where she drank up her quarry’s life as she had promised.   
  
The sun rose slowly over the winter landscape. Obscured partially by thick snow-filled clouds, it could never seek to fully penetrate the wilderness below. The forest itself was as dark as ever, and still the villagers muttered of the terrible fate of the blacksmith Gendry who had not returned from its depths. Nobody was brave or foolish enough to go look for him; no man was stupid enough to enter its savage netherworld.   
  
Deep in the glades, the little hut had never seemed so deserted. Wolf-shadow flitted through the house; thick paws crushed Jeyne’s trinkets underfoot. The wolves guarded their master’s domain with vicious loyalty.   
  
And deep down beneath the floorboards, in a small cavern full of luxurious silks and furs, his body marked with a dozen tender love-bites, Gendry slept safe and content in the arms of the gentle she-wolf.   
**  
**


End file.
